


Benedict Catalyst

by htebazytook



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: First Time, Humor, M/M, Romance, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:05:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin.  The newest castmate disrupts the Trek family dynamic, a little.  Slash ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Benedict Catalyst

**Author's Note:**

> I had to. And, just in case you somehow missed Simon Pegg's foray into slash fanfiction, I urge you to [click here](http://www.edgarwrighthere.com/2009/10/20/the-steamy-hot-fuzz-slash-fiction-tweets-october-19th-2009/).

**Title:** Benedict Catalyst  
 **Author:** [](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/profile)[**htebazytook**](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** <—  
 **Pairing:** Zach/Chris  
 **Author's Notes:** I had to. And, just in case you somehow missed Simon Pegg's foray into slash fanfiction, I urge you to [click here](http://www.edgarwrighthere.com/2009/10/20/the-steamy-hot-fuzz-slash-fiction-tweets-october-19th-2009/).  
 **Summary:** What it says on the tin. The newest castmate disrupts the Trek family dynamic, a little. Slash ensues.

 

 

"This'll be fun," Chris says. It's the kind of thing you say when you have no idea whether or not it'll be any fun.

Zach smiles tightly at him, because he's aware of that. Sips Blue Moon and for a minute Chris can't believe he'd forgotten it was Zach's drink of choice in less than fancy bars. He remembers late nights with a crowded table of excitingly new friends where the storybookish logo of Zach's beer had felt like an anchor.

When Benedict does finally show up it's with Simon in tow, and Chris wonders if he'd brought him along as a translator for their collective douchiness. When they sit down across from Zach and him he's pretty sure it looks like a double date to everyone else at the half empty bar.

Chris waits until the usual introductions are out of the way, waits for a lull in the conversation to draw himself up and say, "I actually studied abroad in England. At Leeds."

"Oh," Benedict says indulgently. He says it in such a way that Chris feels like an anime fanatic who's always believed he's an expert on everything Japanese and has just realized what a poseur he is.

"Yeah," Chris pushes on. Zach's trying not to laugh, which really isn't helping. "Everyone over there is so, I dunno, smart. They think before they speak or whatever." Unlike me. "It must be so cool to be, like, actually _from_ England, you know?" Chris pauses to kick Zach under the table for nearly giggling. "I dunno, I think it's cool. You know."

"Er, sure, I guess so." Chris can't work out how Benedict manages to be at once so polite and so condescending.

"You know, Chris," Simon says. "You never got all hot and bothered trying to impress _me_ with your lacking knowledge of all things British."

"I didn't think you'd care about, um. I didn't . . ."

Zach translates: "He doesn't think you're intelligent enough to give a shit about scholarly pursuits."

Everybody laughs, but Chris still feels like hiding under the table. He never felt insecure like this, anymore. It's disorienting. He hurries to join in on the laughter. "But no, you really are intelligent, Benedict. Even though you're kind of a douche about it." And yeah, Chris probably should've hid under the table when he had the chance.

Benedict blinks. "Sorry what?"

"Douche just means like a git," Zach says knowingly.

Chris scrambles. "No, no! No, I mean . . . Okay, you know in that one scene where Spock fights—mmf!"

Simon nearly upsets the table while lunging across it to smoosh his hand over Chris's mouth. "First rule of Star Trek, Chris."

"Don't talk about Star Trek," Zach clarifies, doing absolutely nothing to help him.

Chris shakes Simon off. "Yeah yeah, I know. I don't think it was strictly necessary for J.J. to add a clause into our contracts about it, though."

"Apparently it was . . ." Zach says.

Benedict laughs. "I dunno, I think it shows perspicacity, really."

Zach's eyes widen. "That's quite a word, there, man."

"Yeah it's it's. Uh." Okay, now everyone is looking at Chris like they've never heard someone stutter before. "Prodigious?" Zach's face doesn't change. He turns to Benedict so Chris intervenes again: "Like, is this our new thing, now? Hanging out exclusively in bars?"

Zach turns back to Chris just as easily. "It's en vogue, yo," he says. Chris kind of loves that he can pull off borrowed French and terribly misappropriated urban slang in the same sentence. "How I Met Your Mother?"

Chris snorts. " _You're_ Ted."

Zach feigns hurt. "You say that like it's a bad thing." Takes a drink. "If I'm Ted, you're Robin."

Bottled up laughter spouts out of Chris's mouth desperately. Simon beams at them and Chris wants to smack him across the face. Chris says, "Because of my girlish figure, no doubt."

"Well that just goes without saying," Zach agrees. "But also because you're always putting work before relationships."

"Whaaat? No I'm not. What the fuck? I don't do that. And anyway if I did that, why wouldn't I be Barney?"

Simon raises his hand, finishing his drink. _Ah_ 's and says, " 'Cause that's me," with supreme nonchalance.

"I really don't do that though," Chris says, but nobody's listening to him because Benedict has deigned to join the conversation:

"I'll get the next round," is all he actually says, but Chris is mildly creeped out by how he'd laid in wait silently for the last several minutes only to bring them all screeching to a halt as soon as it suited him to speak.

Zach's the only one who throws out a 'thanks' as Benedict walks away, watches him wade through the crowd and hurries to finish his Blue Moon as if drinking really pretty girly beer is impressive or something.

Chris turns to Simon. "So what are we talking here, famous-wise?" he asks once Benedict's out of earshot, points at his retreating figure. "Macaulay Culkin circa 1990 or Macaulay Culkin circa now?"

"Benedict's the sexiest Brit alive or something, isn't he? Where have you been? Also just because I'm British doesn't make me your go-to authority on all things not American."

"Yes it does."

"Yeah, okay," Simon concedes, nods seriously. "Okay. I can live with that."

*

"And I dunno, getting to experience another culture like that really gives you perspective, you know?" Benedict pauses in his long-winded bragging to take a dainty sip of his drink.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Zach says dreamily, which is stupid because the last time Chris checked Zach doesn't frequent Tibetan monasteries, unless you count that one yoga place with the super tacky décor he always drags Chris to.

Benedict smiles at them, perfectly confident on his own and without Simon for a sidekick. The bastard. "So," he says. "Let's have it. How do I deal with the media storm once this thing hits theaters? I imagine Trekkers are a whole different animal, although the British tabloids are some manner of lunatic carnivore, certainly."

Zach beams, probably because Benedict had said Trekkers instead of Trekkies like the douche he is. "Well, yeah, it is kind of daunting. But I've managed to keep a low enough profile. I mean, don't get me wrong, getting recognized for project you're proud of isn't exactly a chore, but I do like to just sort of chill out with my friends, and be alone and read, or veg out around the house or whatever."

"Me too," Benedict says, seems pleasantly surprised. Zach beams a little brighter. Chris wonders if Benedict is planning on agreeing with everything Zach says. "I'm honestly just grateful to be getting decent work."

Oh, so, Benedict's an actor with _integrity_ huh? Well whoop-de-do. Is he implying _they_ aren't, or something? Like Chris doesn't care about the quality of the gigs he takes? Of course he cares, but he's also not an idiot, and he knows he has to keep his name out there by taking some questionable roles, but apparently Benedict's quite above that all because he's what, a _real_ actor or something . . .

"Yeah," Chris says aloud.

Benedict deadpans: "Well, clearly you lot haven't made it, yet. Have you _been_ compared to an otter?"

Zach snickers, lounges in his chair. "I saw those. Kind of hilariously accurate."

"Oh bugger off," Benedict says, gone squirmy and embarrassed.

"No no," Zach laughs. "Otters are cute. _Almost_ as cute as you. And anyway I shudder to think what people might compare me to."

Chris seizes the opportunity: "A hawk. You think I mean the nose, but I'm mostly referring to your creepy serial killer stare." Chris imitates it, badly.

Zach nudges him. "Shut up." But he's laughing.

Benedict clears his throat. "Sorry, so you haven't animal counterparts in gifspams across the internet?"

" _Well_ . . ."

"I see," Benedict says consolingly. "Not sure you can be said to have made it, then, really . . ."

Zach laughs. Chris is pretty sure he would've laughed if Benedict had said he killed puppies in his spare time.

*

"Oh come on, Benedict's not _that_ great."

"Look," Zach says patiently. "You said it yourself. He's a bit of a git, sure, but . . ."

"Definitely didn't say that, no."

" . . . _but_ , so are we. Come on, Chris, you heard the words he was using!"

"Yeah, okay, but vocabulary is one thing. Good taste is quite another. He's so, like, _predictable_. Keats? I mean, is this for real?"

"Just because you're a Cummings slut . . . "

But Chris refuses to give Zach's pun the time of day, no matter that he's going to file it away for extensive recycling. "Look, you don't just go around saying your favorite piece of classical music is Beethoven's fifth—it's like, no shit, everybody _likes_ it, nobody's disputing it's a masterpiece, but it's like you didn't think about it at all and you just pick whatever the mainstream says is cool and _what is it_?" Zach's been laughing for a good while.

"Nothing," Zach says, coughs in his attempt to stop laughing. His face is red. "You think _I'm_ a hipster? Listen to yourself."

"Just. What's the deal with non-rhotic accents anyway? Benedict's doesn't even sound genuine. I mean, what, does he just take all the R's he skips over and save them up to tag on the end of random words like 'saw' and 'idea' just for shits and giggles? It makes no sense."

Zach nods slowly. It's clear he thinks Chris has finally lost it. "Uh huh. That's not just Benedict, you know."

Chris seethes, then calms himself and says, "Yinzer," mildy.

"Valleygirl," Zach shrugs, then starts grinning, then stands and says, "Cumberbund! Over here, man."

Benedict fades into view and, to Chris's horror, proceeds to engage Zach in a painfully bro fist bump routine.

Chris laughs a disbelieving little laugh. "So, so what, you guys just have, you know, witty little pet names for each other, now?"

Zach sighs. "Do you want me to start calling you Captain now or something?"

"Why yes I would," Chris nods. Tries to think of a spur of the moment nickname for Zach and panics: "Quinto . . . ssential. Quinto-ssential."

Benedict laughs, which makes Chris jump a little. He'd had forgotten he was even there.

"So," Chris says leadingly. "Where's _your_ faithful sidekick this fine evening, Benedict?"

Benedict shrugs, suddenly looks bashful and young, then sits next to Zach and sighs, "Oh, who knows? Tossing off, probably."

Zach laughs—not uproariously, but just sort of mildly and knowingly and you know what, Zach is not the only one who is peripherally aware of Briticisms. Chris wants to scream _Stop trying to make 'fetch' happen!_ at them, which would make no sense whatsoever, but that doesn't stop the urge.

Chris smiles like a maniac. Zach glances at him and rolls his eyes like he knows what sort of inane thoughts are running around in his head, which he clearly doesn't or else he'd stop encouraging them. Or, encourage them as much as possible and oh goddammit, that's what's happening, isn't it? Pointy-eared bastard.

Zach and Benedict are talking now, though, bright eyed and engrossed in catching up because Benedict's been filming his own stuff a lot this week and nobody's really seen him on set. Chris starts to wonder if Zach does this on every project—finds a temporary BFF and sticks to them like glue and invents elaborate handshake routines only to abandon them at the first sign of a charming Brit with a voice bafflingly meltier than Zach's.

"So, how did the fangirls take it?" Zach is asking. "The jump to warp speed, as it were." Benedict titters a little at Zach's cheesy joke before Chris can quite manage to. Now he's never going to weasel his way back into the conversation. Chris gives up on diplomacy and just says what he's thinking:

" _You_ have fangirls?" Chris says. Fucking _of course_ he does. Benedict probably also has a résumé without a single embarrassing romcom and an IQ of 140 and makes you breakfast in bed the morning after.

"No, I get it," Zach says. He hasn't even glanced at Chris disapprovingly—that's how little he gives a shit. "You've got the whole otherworldly thing going on. And then you have to go and be all intelligent, on top of it, and it's pretty fucking enthralling."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Benedict rubs at the back of his neck. "Look at you two. I'm sure you've plenty of Cumberbitches, or you know, whatever they call themselves. Certainly it can't be as daft as 'Cumberbitches'."

Chris is so busy concentrating on glaring at Benedict that it takes him a minute to realize Zach is speaking to him, for a change.

"Like with you, Chris," Zach is saying. "You're just a different brand of heartthrob. You've got the whole innocent boy next door look coupled with the muscles and did I mention your big, sexy brain?"

"It's not for eating," Chris warns.

Zach sighs. "Sylar doesn't _eat_ brains, he—"

"Yeah okay, don't care." Zach laughs at him. Chris will make fun of Zach's terrible roles for as long as it takes to get him to stay focused on Chris, even if it ends in fisticuffs. "Well you've got the whole . . . you know, tall dark and sexy thing. Brand. And you're articulate and witty and care about issues or whatever, but you're also kind of a dork."

Benedict coughs. " _Anyway_ ," he says. "It's not just sexual objectification. There are plenty of people who are just madly passionate about the show. Or the movie, whatever, which is likely what most fans are like. The hardcore fangirls are just a vocal minority. A shrieking, hormonal minority."

"Well yeah, and Star Trek is a whole thing," Zach says, turning his body so he's facing Benedict completely. "But with Sherlock the fandom's so new, you know? Well, sort of. Don't you think so, Chris?"

Chris is sure Zach knows Chris wouldn't know, and has asked him as an afterthought just to make him look stupid. He spits, "Well I dunno, I haven't seen it, so . . . "

"Oh, you haven't?" Zach says, disgustingly astonished. "It's brilliant!"

Chris doesn't exactly snarl at him, but Zach still makes big _Dude, chill_ eyes at him anyway, which is completely unnecessary. "Well if it's so 'brilliant' then why haven't you said anything about it before? Like when Benedict was cast or something, I dunno."

Zach pouts at him, which is supposed to be tongue in cheek but ends up pissing Chris off because of how well it works on him, and he _hates_ that. "Come on," Zach wheedles. "We'll marathon it!"

"Uh, no thanks."

*

As Chris shrieks at the end credits of the last episode of Sherlock he is at once thankful he hadn't taken Zach up on his offer and starting to regret not having someone to shout obscenities at and/or weep uncontrollably against.

Chris picks up his phone and starts to text him a few times, but never follows through. Zach's probably busy hanging out with the real life Sherlock, anyway, and he might text him something back about whatever stupid thing they were doing. Chris really doesn't have any fucks left to give.

*

Benedict Arnold holds court at the other end of the bar while Karl, Zoë, and John all fawn over him.

"Look at him," Chris says darkly. "You just know he goes around acting like plural possessive rules apply to singular nouns ending in S and only tacks on an apostrophe." The scum.

"What, like Chris-apostrophe versus Chris-apostrophe-S?" Zach's probably the only person who's worked out this particular pet peeve of his. "And when would Benedict have occasion to write your name down?"

"It's just an expression."

" . . . No it's not."

"In a text or something, I don't know! You’re his new best _mate_ , right? You tell me. Huh. Do you know what I heard? I heard he auditioned for J.J. _on his phone_. Talk about douchey. 'Ohh I'm so fucking spectacular that I don't even have to try and I get parts handed to me left and right.' "

Zach shakes his head, laughing. He doesn't seem to grasp the gravity of the situation, and finds it hilarious when Chris is pissed, apparently. "Don't you, like, have a significant other?" Chris cringes at the term—something so cringe-inducing had no right to be grammatically sound. "Why are you always wasting your time with me?"

"Well, I never get to see you."

"We see each other a lot," Zach says. "You know, for Hollywood friends."

Chris wonders if a Hollywood friend is the same as a summer girlfriend. Any kind of summer friend. Doesn't _have_ to be a girlfriend. _Or_ a boyfriend. "Oh my God shut up!"

Zach's eyebrows climb.

Chris waves it off. "No, it's just . . . never mind."

"Internal dialogue discombobulating you, again?"

"Yeah."

*

"Wotcher!" Simon essentially yells as he and Benedict approach the corner booth that's been claimed in the name of the Federation.

"I say, old bean, what a positively spiffing little pub this is," Benedict says, slips onto the bench next to Chris and Chris realizes he's never actually sat next to him.

Zoë raises an elegant eyebrow. Everything she does is elegant, actually. "Uh, what the fuck?" And yeah, she manages to say it elegantly.

Simon's expression is even more crazed than usual. "Oi, we're British don't'cha know, this is 'ow we speak, innit!"

"Riiight," Zach says. "So, like, I guess I'll start speaking with a lisp and Chris here can say 'dude' at end of every sente—oh, wait."

Chris laughs. He'd punch Zach in the shoulder but for some reason Chris is sandwiched between Benedict and Zoë, which is about as elegant a sandwich as you can get, but still.

"I can snap my fingers and say _mmhmm_ all the time," Zoë offers. "Or roll my R's or something?"

"Dude," Chris says approvingly. People laugh, and Chris catches Zach's eye, which is all glistening and crinkled up with mirth. Maybe Zach wasn't actually constantly drooling over Benedict, but Chris had just never noticed because Zach-and-Chris always sat next to each other, which meant Chris was always watching Benedict watching Zach, or maybe _Chris_ was the one who was drooling over Benedict, or . . .

"Chris, don't listen to the voices," Zach advises. "Do you know what he's talking about?"

"Huh?" Everyone's staring at Chris, now. He's not intimidated by that, though—it's the crazy color changing Cumberbatch gaze that's making him so uneasy, this close. Zach constantly goes on and on about Benedict's eyes, and it makes Chris remember when Zach used to think Chris's eyes were azure pools of ethereal beauty. Just, you know, in jest.

Benedict's eyes are like zero percent pupil, right now, and they're fixed on Chris. He repeats himself: "Fanfiction? Oh come on, there's got to be some out there for Star Trek."

"Fan what?" Zach says it, but Chris had been thinking it. They glance at each other and Chris knows they'll be scouring the internet as soon as they leave the bar.

*

"It's not just characters," Chris blurts. Benedict frowns as Zach and Chris sit opposite him in the bleakly-lit bar like it's an interrogation.

"Sorry?"

Zach pushes some papers across the table. "This may be difficult for you."

Benedict laughs, then reads, and then Chris gets the distinct impression that all the blood has drained from his face, but who could tell? "But. But Martin's _in a relationship_."

"So are we!" Chris says, then hurries to correct himself: "Both of us are, I mean. In separate ones. Not with each other. Well, we have a relationship with each other just not—okay look, the important thing here is that this is kind of terrifying."

Benedict's eyes rake over the paper. "Just because Martin and I are friendly doesn't mean we're inseparable off set as well. That's a bit ridiculous, isn't it?" Zach shifts uncomfortably at Chris's side while realization dawns on Benedict's face. "Oh God, there must be _loads_ of this written about you two."

" _Terrifying_ ," Chris reiterates.

Simon appears out of nowhere, can't be bothered to wait til he's sitting down to start in on his beer. "All right, guys?"

"Do know about this, Simon?" Zach demands. Chris always forgets about his assertive side when he's not in character.

"What's that?" Simon sits next to Zach, unconcerned. Benedict just sort of huddles in on himself and stays pale and silent. Simon takes in their shell-shocked expressions. "Let me guess—you've finally discovered fanfiction. Not really surprised it took you this long, Benedict, but _you_ two." He shakes his head. "It's fantastic, though, isn't it? Geeky teenage girls across the internet who fancy me enough to write porn about my sensuous lips and dishy accent or whatever it is they do. Oh I do love my life, though." A dreamy sigh. "It's only a matter of time before they start writing about the three of you in every possible combination, and not just your characters, mind."

Zach gapes at him. Benedict continues his impression of a deer in the headlights. Chris concentrates on not concentrating on the images his brain is supplying.

Later, Chris has to drag a very drunk Zach away from the alcohol before he starts butchering quotes from literary classics. Chris mutters something about carpooling to save the environment and drapes Zach's arm across his shoulders as they make their escape.

"Right," Benedict says as they walk away. " _Why_ aren't they together, again?"

"American repression is just as bad," Simon says sagely. "In fact it may be a bit worse, considering how liberated they think themselves."

Benedict snorts. "You're the go-to authority on all things American, are you?"

"Yep."

*

"Never a dull moment with this crew," John is saying as Karl returns to the table with their drinks.

"How would you know, dude?" Chris gestures between John and Karl. "You guys never come out with us."

Karl makes a face. "Yeah we do, all the time."

John touches Karl's arm. "I got this." Turns to the rest of them. "Attention bachelors: when you're married this is the normal extent of the barhopping. Beware!"

Chris laughs and Zach says, "Okay, but what about Simon?"

John raises an eyebrow. "Zach, I don't think any of us are counting Simon as norma— _hey_ Simon. How's it hanging?"

And there they are, the British invasion. Simon and Benedict scootch into the booth and Chris is glad he's sitting next to Zach again this time, because that meant he didn't have to see his eyes light up when talking to Benedict. Having John on his other side for comic relief was also kind of, well, a relief. And because Chris feels he's done more than his duty when it comes to making Benedict feel welcome, he spends most of the evening catching up with John. But then:

"Chris," Zach says in his ear.

Chris nearly spills his beer, rounds on him too quickly and Zach's ridiculously close, all pressed together in a booth as they are. "Huh?"

Zach rolls his eyes, points across the table to where Benedict is staring at him, disconcerting and greenish tonight. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to interrupt your conversation, Chris." Benedict sounds genuinely contrite, not sarcastic like Zach or, you know, anybody else ever would've.

"Nah it's cool." Chris tries not to squirm under Zach's heavy half drunk gaze. " 'Sup?" Why does he always sound like a frat boy when he's trying to be cool? Clearly Zach is thinking the same thing, because he snickers into his drink.

"Karl was just telling me about your Paradise Lost theory."

"Oh, ha, yeah. No, it's just stupid."

Zach pats him on the shoulder. "Oh, you sell yourself short, Chr—"

"It's rather an intriguing notion," Benedict interrupts. Zach blinks, but lets it slide. "Of course it makes sense to read Satan as the hero, from a modern perspective. A humanist argument does seem to be in there, and at the very least some anti-monarchism, which is awfully significant, considering Cromwell was around the same time."

Chris laughs. Is this really happening? "Yeah, I mean, there _is_ actually a lot of debate over what Milton's portrayal of Satan implies. I mean, if we just look at it and see him as a character and what's in the text, you see this guy at the top of his game who lost everything. Like the first officer on a ship getting demoted for doing his job and telling the captain he's making a tactical error or something and _oh my God_ when did my life _become_ Star Trek?"

Benedict laughs. "You read English at school, did you?"

Zach laughs, less amiably. "Uh, yeah I think as an English major he would've read books _in English_ . . ."

"He just means I majored in it, Zach," Chris says. Zach's face is a study in betrayal, and it is delicious.

"So," Benedict says, "what other poetry do you like, then? Or is it just epic all the way with you?"

"Epic is my middle name, Cumberbatch, and don't you forget it."

Benedict laughs again, and Zach raises his eyebrows in a decidedly bitchy way before hunkering down on the bench.

Benedict's actually not so bad.

*

"It's nice to come out to a bar just the two of us."

"Yeah," Chris says, but Zach looks too much like he'd expected him to agree so he adds, "I mean, I guess so."

"Yeah, it's—what do you mean, you guess so?"

"Listen, Zach. Don't you, like, have a significant other? Why are you always wasting your time with me?" When Zach had asked him the same thing he'd been laughing, but Chris can't keep his tone light enough.

Zach shuts up, looking at him like he's not used to looking at Chris's face, which he probably isn't considering how little time they actually do spend together off set, anymore. Chris had been so busy trying to pinpoint the color of Benedict's eyes he'd forgotten about Zach's and how ridiculously warm and soulful they felt, or dark and dangerous, or unremarkable and familiar. They flick down, suddenly shy, and the angle of Zach's head is hard to look away from.

"Hey, I didn't mean to bust your—"

"It's fine," Zach says, sits up and sighs, then rubs at his eyes and when his glasses resettle on his face they're nowhere near straight. Chris fixes them, and Zach goes utterly still and stares at him.

Chris tries not to lick his lips.

Luckily Zach says, "Come on," before Chris has to resort to nervous tics. He stands up and walks away from the table so quickly Chris wonders for a minute if he'd meant 'Oh come _on_ ' as a parting shot or if he honestly wanted Chris to follow him. Zach's disappearing into the crowd, so Chris goes after him before he can decide one way or the other.

Chris rounds the corner and almost runs right into Zach. It's quiet and weirdly better lit over here by the bathrooms. Oppressively quiet, actually. Sometimes being alone with Zach was too much pressure.

It's clear from Zach's expression that he's biting his tongue, hands in his pockets and shoulders tense and looking about twelve years old.

"Spit it out, Zach."

"Okay, so. I had this plan? But . . . I chickened out."

"Plan."

"Yeah . . ." Zach rolls his eyes at himself. "I was gonna kiss you as soon as you came around the corner."

"Oh . . ." Chris's heart must've stopped for a minute there, because now it's beating at breakneck speed to make up for lost time. And who the fuck freaks out this much about the mere mention of a missed opportunity for kissing someone who _isn't your very real girlfriend_? "So, why didn't you?" is all he can think to say.

"Well, I figured I should probably tell you what I was gonna do, first."

"Um, okay." Chris licks his lips. "So you're going to. Do it, I mean."

"Yeah."

"Kiss me."

"Yeah."

"No, I mean, like. Kiss me." Zach frowns and Chris heaves a sigh. "I'm _asking_ you to kiss me, Zach."

Zach laughs, then gets closer, then hovers hotly in Chris's personal space and it's weird to be staring someone directly in the eye in this context, at eye level and everything. It's got to be the slowest lead-in to a kiss Chris's ever experienced. A hand stroking his jaw like it's a black and white movie and Chris starts to worry Zach will quote something that will make him laugh or, more probably, melt on the spot, so he just kisses him already, because this is fucking ridiculous.

Zach exhales heavily through his nose, kisses him back and frames Chris's face in his hands like he's afraid Chris might change his mind at any moment.

Chris doesn't change his mind. Zach's mouth is too soft and eager to ignore. He does pulls away for a minute, though, just to kick the bathroom door open—can't not touch Zach—and hauls him inside and kisses him against a dingy yellow tiled wall without even considering whether or not they're alone.

Zach doesn't seem to care about that, either, pulling Chris closer, painful dig of his fingernails and his bony ribs and his too-hard kiss. Chris groans at his enthusiasm but figures it's probably up to him to take things down a notch. He drags his mouth away from Zach's, kisses his chin instead and tilts Zach's head back to lick down his throat over tendons and Adam's apple and collarbones because Zach's wearing one of those threadbare and way too V-neck shirts and Chris is suddenly determined to taste every inch of him.

The creaky bathroom door starts to creak, which can't be good. "Oh sh—"

" _Sh_!" Zach echoes, seizes Chris's arms and hurls him unceremoniously into a stall.

It's ridiculously cramped in there, and Chris isn't completely sure the door's been bolted. Against Zach's jaw he whispers, "You could've gone for the handicapped one, you kno—mm . . ."

Zach silences him with a kiss, though, so Chris immediately forgives him. He then reaches between them to unzip Chris's jeans, like it's totally okay to zero in on that right away. Which it is, because Chris is pretty sure that five years of foreplay is probably sufficient.

He tries to say something like _Yes_ or _God_ but Zach's kissing him too relentlessly so he settles for moaning into it, nudges his hips into Zach's busy hand beggingly until it finally closes around Chris's cock.

Chris hurries to reciprocate, thwarted by Zach's fashion sense and more excited than disgusted by the sound of someone pissing in the background. Threat of discovery had always been the basis of whatever it was between them, so he supposed this was poetic justice at work.

Zach's cock feels less strange in Chris's hand than he would've thought. The muffled, broken sound Zach makes at his touch is one hundred percent the best moment in Chris's entire sexual history because _Zach wants me . . . _

Zach abandons the kiss to breathe harshly against Chris's neck, instead. He's pressing his forehead against the flimsy wall of the stall by Chris's ear, straining and gorgeously lost in sensation, and all Chris can do is watch and try not to get so distracted by the perfect friction encasing him to neglect jerking Zach's cock, too.

The bathroom door creaks again—alone, at last. Zach turns Chris's face to kiss him passionately, and Chris has never thought of a kiss as being honestly passionate but this one definitely is. His breath hitches in his throat and he tangles his free hand in Zach's ridiculous Spock hair and doesn't know how to articulate this all encompassing want for him that lives in his bones and never lets up no matter distance or time without talking or seeing, new projects or new homes, different friends and different significant others and God Chris can't stand that term, and soulmates sounded too cliché and stupid but he doesn't know what else to think about Zach other than _passionately_.

"Chris," Zach gasps. "Yeah keep doing that, _God_ that's good—you must jerk off all the time."

"Not much else to do, thinking of you."

"Well," Zach laughs. "Clearly there is. And, _ah_ , oh fuck, keep doing it . . ."

Chris is obsessed with the look on Zach's face, the slack jawed pleasure competing with urgent concentration and Chris just says, "Zach," and squeezes his cock harder, pumps him faster to keep up with Zach's rapid little puffs of breath until he tenses and spills between Chris's fingers with a choked off moan.

Chris isn't sure what to do about the mess, but Zach seems to have an idea—gathers it up and slickens his hand before gripping Chris's cock again and moving slower than before, but more firmly, rubbing at the head with his thumb every so often to get Chris to make embarrassing noises, which he does.

Zach's free hand drops to cup Chris's balls, toys with them idly and good God the sounds escaping Chris's mouth are becoming increasingly pathetic, and apparently too loud because Zach shushes him and kisses him, deep and full of tongue and languid and adamant at once. Chris can't stop touching Zach, his shoulders and arms and everywhere heat, comes so hard he can't breathe or see for a minute, there. When his vision refocuses it's filled with the crinkled up eyes Zach uses for laughing.

*

Once the news—or rather the gossip—breaks, John hands Karl a twenty dollar note as soon as he joins them at the table. Benedict had always imagined Americans didn't spend all their time in pubs, but apparently he'd been wrong. It could just be a direct result of J.J., though.

" _How_ long have you been trying to play matchmaker with them?" Benedict asks.

"Oh God, fucking _years_ ," Zoë says, with perplexing elegance. "It's honestly ridiculous."

"And all it took was you making googly eyes at Quinto," Simon says. "Well done, mate."

Benedict really hopes he isn't blushing. He is a large, semi-muscular man, goddammit. "I wasn't trying to, you know. Zach's a nice enough bloke. Can't you be friendly on this side of the pond without it being interpreted as innuendo?"

Everyone choruses, "No," immediately.

*


End file.
